The Dragon's Heart: Unspoken Passion-Chapter 118: Family Gathering

"Your Highness," came a voice from behind.

The call was respectful, pitched at a distance rather than an interruption. A guard stood near the edge of the yard, helm tucked beneath his arm with his eyes firmly averted from the two royals.

"The council is assembled. They’re requesting your presence."

Levan closed his eyes, sighing. The hand at Ilaria’s hair tensed imperceptibly before loosening again.

Ilaria’s pout returned in an instant. "You have to go."

Levan opened his eyes, the warmth was still there, but tempered now by duty. "Unfortunately."

She shifted, stepping in slightly so she could wrap her arms around his waist and look up at him properly. "Would you be long?" She asked, sulking her way in his arms. "They always take you away when I finally have you."

His gaze softened, mindful of the subtle affection they were showing, of the servants who might pass and pretend not to see. Yet wrapped in her warmth, he found himself unable to care about anything else. "I won’t."

"Promise?" she asked again, her brows knitting as her lips curved into a stubborn little pout, earning a quiet snort from him. "My heart will not like being without you for long."

Of course she would say something like that. Only Ilaria could make waiting sound like a gentle plea, as though she were asking him to stay without ever saying the words.

"I promise," he said softly. His hands slid to her arms, fingers warm as they gave her a gentle squeeze. "I will be as quick as they allow me to be."

She did not look convinced. Her pout deepened, and she tilted her head just enough to glance away.

Levan laughed under his breath. "That look means you are planning to be difficult."

She glanced back at him, if only to glare. "I am not."

"You are," he raised a brow, "and I find it unfair." One hand slipped to her chin, not to force her to look at him, but to nudge her gently. "What if I tell you I will walk very fast?"

"That is not convincing."

He tilted his head slightly, there was mirth in his eyes. "Then I will think about you the entire time."

She hesitated. "...Still not enough."

His smile widened. "Then I will finish early just to come prove it."

Her pout wavered, betrayed by the hint of a smile she tried very hard to hide.

"There," he said softly, pleased. "That’s the smile I was looking for."

Colour crept into her cheeks. She drew her shoulders in shyly, a familiar little motion as if she were trying to make herself smaller while failing entirely. Her hands twisted together at her front, and she ducked her head, laughter barely contained.

Levan poked the tip of her nose, and she scrunched her face reflexively, laughing freely now despite herself.

"Be good while I am gone," he said lightly. "I will find you later."

Her eyes followed him as he stepped back, still smiling at her as though reluctant to leave even now. Only when duty finally pulled him away did he turn, heading toward the waiting guard.

The guard cleared his throat, very pointedly staring anywhere but at the prince. "Your Highness."

Levan’s expression remained composed, though the faintest trace of amusement lingered at the corners of his mouth.

Behind them, Ilaria stood watching as he walked away, her gaze lingering far longer than propriety might suggest. The sunlight caught the lines of his bare back, strong and unguarded beneath the open fabric, and she found herself feeling giddy again.

Only when he disappeared from view did she finally look away, pressing a hand to her cheek that were still warm and wondering how she had ever been expected to behave when her husband walked around looking like that.

She turned. "Melyn—!"

The name burst out of her before she even finished registering the familiar figure standing just a few paces away, hands folded neatly in front of her with expression that was torn between relief and mild panic.

"There you are, Your Highness," Melyn said, already stepping forward. "You were only meant to be—"

She did not manage to finish the sentence. Because Ilaria crossed the distance in a heartbeat and threw herself at her. Melyn let out a startled sound as Ilaria wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed with an enthusiasm that nearly knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Oh—! Princess—!"

"I’m so happy!" Ilaria said into her shoulder, words tumbling out in a rush, her voice bright and unguarded. "He kissed me. And smiled. And promised he’d come back quickly, and he looked at me like—" she choked a bit in excitement, "like I was something precious and I—"

She pulled back just enough to beam at Melyn, eyes shining, cheeks flushed, and hands still gripping the sleeves of her dress so tightly Melyn thought it might ripped.

"—I think I might float away!"

Melyn stared at her for ten seconds straight. This girl who had just been thoroughly, irrevocably undone by her husband...

She looked so alive, Melyn thought distantly.

But she could not just let her be like this in the open, because happiness like this made people careless. It made them forget walls, forget eyes, forget that the palace was never truly empty. Melyn’s instincts flared immediately.

But Gods help her, she could not bring herself to scold the princess. So instead, she reached out and caught Ilaria gently by the arms before the princess truly did attempt to ascend into the clouds, steadying her with a helpless little laugh that escaped despite herself.

"Your Highness, breathe. Please."

"I am breathing!" Ilaria insisted, very clearly not breathing normally at all. "Just very enthusiastically."

Melyn glanced instinctively toward the archway the prince had vanished through, then back at Ilaria, lowering her voice. "I was meant to give you ten minutes alone. Ten. I was searching the grounds thinking something terrible had happened."

Ilaria blinked. Then she smiled even wider.

"Nothing terrible happened!" She said cheerfully. "Quite the opposite."

She leaned in again, hugging Melyn a second time, less violently this time, more like she simply needed somewhere to put all the happiness she could not contain.

Melyn sighed in resignation and patted her back. "I see that."

When Ilaria finally stepped away, she was still glowing, hands clasped behind her back now as she rocked faintly on her heels, trying and failing to look composed.

"You’re smiling like you’ve just been given the crown jewels," Melyn observed.

"I think I was," Ilaria replied dreamily. "Or something better."

Melyn arched a brow. "Your husband."

"Yes!" She nodded promptly. "That."

She paused, then frowned slightly, as if only just remembering herself. "Wait— was I in trouble?"

Melyn laughed quietly. "No, just missed. You disappeared, I thought I might die of a heart attack."

Something softened in Ilaria’s expression at that. She reached out and squeezed Melyn’s hand. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you."

"It’s fine," Melyn said gently. "You looked happy."

Ilaria’s gaze drifted back toward the archway once more, speaking steadier now. "I am."

The breeze shifted, carrying the distant sounds of the palace back into the yard.

Melyn straightened slightly, offering her arm like she usually would. "Shall we head back inside, then? Before anyone else notices how thoroughly unguarded you are."

Ilaria nodded reluctantly, fingers brushing her cheek one last time as if the warmth might still be there before clinging onto the handmaiden’s arm.

"He said he’d find me later," she murmured.

Melyn smiled. "Then you have something to look forward to."

"Yes!" she chimed. "I do."

~×~

Levan did not linger in the training yard after he left her. He allowed himself exactly one breath, one lingering thought of the warmth she had left behind before duty settled back over him like a familiar mantle. By the time he reached his chambers, the softness was already being tucked away.

Servants moved quickly and quietly around him, accustomed to the routine. The open tunic was replaced with crisp linen, then darker tailored layers. Leather bracers clasped over his forearms. The princely mantle followed, heavy with embroidered sigils that spoke of authority rather than affection.

When he was done, there was no trace left of the man who had laughed in the sun with his wife, only the prince remained. The guard waiting outside straightened immediately when Levan emerged, helm snapping into place. They fell into step beside him as he walked, boots echoing against stone corridors that grew cooler and dimmer the closer they came to the council wing.

Levan’s expression was composed and unreadable as ever. But his thoughts were not.

The council chambers were rarely full. Most days, it was only him and the elder lords, occasionally the King, when matters required his presence. His brothers had little interest in governance unless it served them directly.

That was why, when the doors opened, Levan stopped just for a fraction of a second. It was barely perceptible. Anyone watching closely might have mistaken it for a pause to assess the room, a calculated habit of a prince who never entered unprepared. But the truth was simpler and far rarer.

This was unexpected.

Even for someone who so rarely reacted at all. But he stepped inside anyway.

The second prince was the first thing he saw. Melvin leaned against the long oak table with careless familiarity, arms crossed, posture loose in a way that suggested ease rather than respect. He looked freshly returned, dark travel leathers exchanged hastily for court attire, boots still dusted faintly with road grime that no one had yet dared to comment on.

The North clung to him still, sharp and cold, as if he had dragged it back with him on purpose. His gaze slid toward Levan, slow and deliberate with a knowing smile curving his lips. It did not reach his eyes.

So. He had come back.

Levan filed that away silently.

And further down the table was Neven. The first prince sat in the second seat, fingers interlaced atop polished wood, spine straight, presence absolute. Authority radiated from him in that quiet and unyielding way as though the room itself had learned to stand at attention in his presence.

Neven never been one to attend such things. And now he was here. Sitting beside their father nonetheless.

Levan’s gaze lingered for only a heartbeat longer before moving on at the head of the table where the King sat.

He inclined his head. "Your Majesty."

The King nodded once in return, eyes unreadable, mouth set in a line that suggested this meeting had been convened with intention rather than convenience.

That, too, was new.

Levan took his seat without comment, folding his hands neatly before him. The scrape of his chair against stone echoed louder than it should have in the sudden quiet.

So.

A council meeting with the King present and both of his brothers in attendance. One freshly returned from the North, the other reappearing without warning after a prolonged absence.

How very... considerate.

Levan kept his face smooth but his thoughts sharp. In any other family, this would have been called a reunion. Here, it was a warning. He felt it settle into his bones, the familiar sense of being surrounded by blood that carried blades instead of warmth.

He had walked into battlefields that felt less crowded than this table.

Melvin shifted first, the lazy smile on his lips deepening as if he were enjoying a private joke, as if this tableau had been arranged solely for his amusement. Neven remained still and watchful like always. And the King... he said nothing yet.

Levan exhaled slowly through his nose.

Ah.

So that was how this day intended to unfold.

A gathering of blood and ambition arranged neatly around a table as if proximity alone could make them equals. As if being born earlier or louder had ever meant being stronger. He found no reason to be impressed. They were all here to measure him.

How unfortunate for them that he had already outgrown the need to prove himself.

Levan lifted his gaze steadily. "If we’re finished with the theatrics, we may begin."

The words were polite. The challenge beneath them was not.